The Pain Doesn't Last Forever
by Fuzzy Blue Slippers
Summary: Dean's destroying the hotel room while Seth is left to wonder what the hell just happened. /OneShot


**A/n:** Had a thought one day... what if Seth hadn't been the one to destroy the Shield? There's so many fun storylines one could do with this, but for now I'm just gonna leave this as a one shot. Who knows, maybe one day I'll expand it xP

* * *

Alone in a dirty hallway, a war-torn Seth Rollins rested his sore back against his hotel room door, his eyes dull and unseeing.

Wrestlers, divas, and civilians alike cast uneasy glances as they walked past to their rooms, some being kind enough to ask if he were okay.

Clearly, he wasn't.

Aside from the blissfully unaware, they saw what had happened. They knew he'd be a wreck, but still they asked. He never responded. Besides, it wasn't himself who needed the help.

A particularly loud thud reverberated against the door, followed by a burst of raspy cussing. Seth heaved a sigh. His brother had been carrying on for a good hour now, wrecking the room and pissing off the entire floor. Management had showed up quite a few times, giving multiple warnings that they'd call the police if the racket didn't stop. He told them to go ahead, he didn't care. What _was_ there to care about? The team was finished. Beaten. Broken. Done. Why fight? The Authority won.

They _won_.

Somehow, someway, they had wheedled their way into their brotherhood and set fire to its foundations. Yes they had their issues, but what team _didn't_ have them? Going through difficult times was a necessary evil to being a team. You weather the storm, fight through it holding hands, and come out on top. You become stronger, you grow wiser, you prepare for the next war and nothing stands in your way but blood, sweat, and tears. And that's what they'd done for two whole years. They'd always managed to persevere even when everyone wanted them gone. This was supposed to be nothing, just another notch in history detailing their fortitude and awarding them their victory stamp. What he couldn't understand, was why _this_ one? What had the Authority done for this to happen? Could it have been the Wyatt Family's fault? Perhaps. The Wyatt's constant belittlement of their team had been the first legitimate cause for concern, after all. Because of them the fine cracks they'd been nursing were pried open and dissected, showing the world the strained coils of a slowly festering wound, and though they had lost against the deranged family, they had reformed and resealed, becoming a far more resilient force to reckon with; if nothing else, The Wyatt's had done them a service. Nothing could tear them down. Seth had always believed that love and dedication would see them through. The Shield was immortal.

Or so they thought.

Inside the room, another thud, more yelling, then quiet. Seth waited. His brother generally lapsed into silence whenever he needed to catch his breath, then the rant would begin anew, somehow more loud and passionate than before. He hadn't wanted Seth to bother him, threatening him like he was public enemy number two, and like the faithful man he knew himself to be, he allowed him his violent outbursts in private.

A minute passed. Seth turned his head, listening closely. Inside there was no movement, not even a whisper of one. His eyebrows pinched downward, the entire left side of his face pressed against grainy wood.

Nothing.

He knew it wouldn't do anyone any good, but panic decided to rush through him with all the speed of a freight train. Dean could be unreasonably stupid at the worst of times, nearly getting himself and his friends killed in the process. Or worse… his battered body urged him to break down the door and stop what he knew to be a horror show in progress, but no matter how scared or anxious, Seth was still the Architect. There was a rational explanation for this. He just had to stop, take a moment, and breathe. Maybe Dean had grown tired of destroying the room. He'd been at it for three or four hours, if the numbness in his butt was anything to go by. Or if not tired, bored. He could be in the shower or counting sheep or staring out the window, precariously hanging out… no, no, no. He squeezed his eyes shut. Bad imagery. Dean would never.

Then again, neither would Roman.

Gingerly, Seth stood up. His muscles ached from head to toe, loudly protesting, his back throbbing with his new bruises. Against his best wishes he wound up gasping at the pain, nearly doubling over and dizzy. The lights, the floor, the walls all swam before his strained eyes, reminding him all over again that this was real. They'd been turned on, betrayed. It was over. The Shield was finished.

"G- god… damn it…"

Throwing himself from the titantron hadn't nearly been _this_ painful…

It took what felt like forever for the initial nausea to die down, and an even longer time for Seth to regather his wits. Dean still hadn't made a peep, worrying him further. For some people, silence was a sign of peace, the dying of a terrible storm. From Dean, it meant nothing good.

Opening the door, the first thing his weary eyes rested on was a suitcase torn wide open, its contents strewn about without a care in the world. A sick feeling descended into his stomach at the sight, not at the destruction but more at the realization that its owner would want their stuff back.

"I want to burn it."

Seth hid a swallow. His remaining brother sat on one of the two beds, his posture lax and eerily solemn. The pricey albeit ugly lamp that sat on the bedside table had been smashed into large pieces, some on the table and most on the carpet; no blood and a discarded boot lying nearby barely released the pressure in Seth's stomach. With help from the weak lighting of the surviving lamp, he saw that Dean's hair stuck up at awkward angles from the many times he ran his hands through it, and though he would have normally chuckled at the sight, Seth lowered his eyes. The uneasy feeling intensified.

"You… you're not thinking clearly," he said softly. "You're-"

"I don't want to think, _Seth_. I don't want to feel and I fucking don't want to _think_. Just let me burn it, _Seth_."

"Why are you saying my name like that?" His usual bite resurfaced in the face of intimidation. What did he do to deserve that? Nothing. He did _nothing_ wrong. It wasn't like he had anything to do with the damn betrayal. Hadn't he tried everything to bring this team back from the brink time and time again? If anyone should be ripping the room apart, it should have been _him_. At least he _tried_ to do something positive.

"Because you're aggravating me," was the matter of fact answer. "I thought I told you to leave me alone."

"I'm trying to help you, Dean. You're not in a good place right now and I can't afford to lose you, too."

The blond scoffed. "You can't afford- _afford_? _Really_? So I'm a prize pony then? No scratch that, I'm a consolation prize?"

"For fuck's sake..." What had he been expecting anyway? Getting a civil conversation out of Dean Ambrose was like pulling rotten teeth straight from a raw nerve. They'd been through a lot over the past couple of months; did he forget that he too was going through the same shit? "I didn't say any of that. Don't put words in my mouth."

Dean rolled his eyes at him but didn't snap back. Instead of offering a simple apology, he cracked his neck from side to side, releasing a sigh that sounded more annoyed than tired. "Did you need somethin'?"

Seth opened his mouth once and twice before letting out a sigh of his own. Unsurprising really. Changing the subject was so much more easier than trying to fix the issue, according to the expert problem child over there. At this rate, going along with it would be for the best; press too hard, and Dean would more than likely physically attack him, and that was something he just couldn't stomach. "Nothing, I didn't need anything. I was only checking on you."

"I'm fine."

"How's your back?" he offered, gesturing in an offhand manner.

"How do you think, Goldilocks?"

His short, angry tone tore through Seth. Passivity went straight out the window. "Ah, you know what, never mind. If you're going to be a straight up jerk then I'll just go sleep in the car. You're not the only one who got his heart broken, Ambrose."

Seth barely had a hand on the door handle when Dean more or less returned to his senses.

"How's yours?" His voice was soft, almost gentle.

Seth let his hand drop. The stress of the last couple of hours still imprinted in his mind combined with Dean's attitude left his fingers faintly tingling. It was the worst kind of rush. "I'll live."

"Good."

"Dean-"

"Yeah?"

He took in a deep breath and spun around. Their eyes met and held.

"Do you think-?"

"I told you," the blond interrupted, slyly smiling, "I don't think." His smile dropped and he pat the space beside him. Whatever Seth had said or done, it melted the ice. Deep down, Seth knew why, because for all of his bravado and sketchy behavior, Dean craved companionship. There was an odd loneliness in his gaze when they locked eyes, a rarity if he ever saw one. Perhaps he didn't actually want the other to leave and just didn't know how to properly convey it. Or perhaps Seth was just seeing something to make himself feel better.

Either way, he gratefully walked back to him and sat down in the offered space. The gap between them was less than a foot away, close enough for any pair of friends, but Dean had to be closer, sliding over until their thighs pressed together. He emitted a warmth that doubled as a sense of security. It was intimate, but it reminded Seth of something much more. _I'm here, you're here,_ we're _here_ , it whispered, and if he could believe in one thing one more time, it was that everything was going to be okay.

 _They_ were going to be okay.

"Weird week, huh?"

Seth blinked out of his happy daze, letting out a soft laugh, "Yeah." His gaze drifted off to the other bed, then to the strewn belongings. "Very weird."

Dean peered around, too, his eyes hardening into a glare, "I still want to burn it."

"I know you do."

A moment of silence passed before the remaining Shield members broke down into snorts and giggles, and for the first time since they left the arena, they forgot about their brother and his betrayal. Roman might have fallen victim to the Authority's greed and corruption, but not Dean and Seth. Whatever twisted path destiny had planned for them, they'd get through it. Together.

"But seriously, though. You got a lighter?"


End file.
